Mixed Emotions
by PerfectPride
Summary: House learns some news that he struggles to deal with, and Cuddy is intent on finding out what.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Mixed Emotions**

**Pairing: House/Cuddy**

**Summary: House hears some shocking news, and consequently, struggles to deal with it.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own House MD or the characters.**

**Spoilers: From the episode One day, One room especially, but also stuff taken from Season 1, 2 and 3. I have seen Season 4, but pretend that it doesn't exist for the purpose of this fic, mainly because I'm not overly keen on the changes made and I think the fic will work better if the newbies aren't involved.**

**Rating: M**

**A/N: Feedback is appreciated, including constructive criticism. **

House was irritable.

That in itself wasn't a strange occurrence, House was _always_ irritable. What was different about this particular time was that his irritability was not because of clinic duty, patients, any of his work colleagues, or for that matter, anything in relation to the hospital.

It was his father.

At just before three o'clock that morning, House had answered the phone expecting Cuddy to be on the other end of it, informing him that he had a new patient and to get his ass out of bed and to the hospital. Instead, it had been his mother, tearfully informing him that his father had died after a sudden heart attack, and what was she going to do? House had been unable to offer her any words of comfort, not knowing what to say for the best. His mother needed him to tell her all was going to be ok, that he was there for her. Moreover, that he was sorry he hadn't been able to say goodbye to the father he loved. However, he couldn't do that, because truthfully?

He was fucking happy.

House being House, he had been unable to tell his mother why he couldn't care less, even now that his father was gone. He had remained silent, his sarcastic tongue on hold due to the fact that even though he was an evil bastard, he couldn't make his mother's pain worse. The woman who had given birth to him, raised him, the one person with unconditional love for him no matter what he did, did not deserve that. Nevertheless, when she'd asked him to come and stay, help her with the funeral arrangements, he had said no. That was the one thing he couldn't bring himself to do, and so he hung up, feeling guilty, but not guilty enough to change his mind.

Knowing there was no way he'd get any more sleep, he popped a few Vicodin and seated himself at his piano. He remained there for a couple of hours, playing song after song, refusing to think about the news he had just learnt. As much as he mocked people for relying on denial, right now it was the only way he could cling onto his sanity. Come six o'clock the birds had begun to chirp, and House hauled himself up, resting on the bed, his portable television resting on his stomach in front of him. It was there he remained until seven thirty, when boredom kicked in and he decided to go to work. As well as his usual activities (television and gameboy) he considered scouting the hospital for a potential patient, a puzzle to take his mind away from reality, if only for a few short days until he solved the case. Otherwise, even clinic duty wasn't a bad idea. At least if he was trying to diagnose an illness or treat patients then he would feel curious, feel intrigued by something, or merely just use his brain which ultimately was much better off than what he felt inside right now.

Nothing.

He felt nothing.

* * *

House's irritability became apparent the moment he walked through the doors of Princeton Plainsborough Teaching Hospital. A man wearing a suit rushed towards the exit, and not looking where he was going, had smacked straight into House. Feeling a jolt of pain run through his leg, House spat, "Idiot!" at the man responsible, and continued on his way, making sure to press his cane down upon the man's foot as he moved forward.

Behind him, the man turned, and in retaliation snapped, "Cripple!"

Normally, House would have replied with a sarcastic comment, shot down the man with his tongue. However, the mood he was in today wouldn't allow for as mild an action as this, and so facing the man once again, House slammed his cane into the man's shins, saying sarcastically, "Oh I'm so sorry; I slipped." Poor excuse, poor sarcasm, _fantastic_ hit.

"You… bastard…" The man hissed through his teeth, bending over and clutching his legs.

"House!" From behind him came the voice of Lisa Cuddy, who had evidently witnessed the exchange between the two men, and was coming over to attempt damage control.

Ignoring her, House said to the man in a joyous voice, "Hey, if you're lucky, you'll be a cripple too!"

Cuddy came to stand next to House, saying in a dangerously low voice, "What the hell is going on, House?"

"My cane is just getting acquainted with this gentlemen's legs," House informed her lightly.

Cuddy's eyes narrowed, and just as she opened her mouth to tell him to apologise, the man gave an exaggerated groan and yelled, "What is your problem?!"

"Right now?" House pretended to think. "You."

"God, my legs…" The man was still moaning.

"Hey, you think that's bad?" House raised his voice. "Try losing half your thigh muscle. Now _that_ is pain." Unreasonable anger had suddenly come over him, and he was much more than just irritated. Pulling his Vicodin out of his pocket, he shook one out into his hand, and threw it at the man. "Take that and stop acting like an overgrown baby." Turning, House began hobbling in the direction of the lifts, wanting to get to his office where he could have some peace and quiet before his team arrived.

"House!" He heard Cuddy begin to follow him, and cursed inwardly when she followed him into the lift. "What's wrong?"

"Right now? This annoying buzz in my ear, that keeps going on and on… oh wait, it's your voice!" He exclaimed, unable to stop himself.

Used to House's insults, Cuddy didn't bat an eyelid. Instead, she asked, "Is your leg ok?"

"Aside from the missing chunk of muscle I was just talking about, it's swell," he snapped.

Cuddy paused, knowing that the next question would probably be answer with a lie, but was still worth asking just in case. Biting her lip, Cuddy asked, "Are you ok?"

"On top of the world," House told her sarcastically, relieved when the lift stopped on his floor. Leaving rapidly, the click of heels behind him told him that Cuddy hadn't given up.

"What is it, House?" She asked, concern now evident in her voice.

Attempting to slam his office door in Cuddy's face didn't deter her, and so House resigned himself to the fact that this conversation was going to happen whether he liked it or not.

Cuddy started to speak, "Look, I'm not stupid…."

House interrupted her saying, "Really? Most women with a chest like that are… you must just be a special individual!"

"Why are you being like this?" Cuddy frowned.

"Like what?" House swallowed a Vicodin.

"A bigger jerk than you usually are," Cuddy stated.

"It's my time of the month," House said solemnly.

Ignoring this, Cuddy thought aloud. "You weren't like this yesterday, so whatever has happened, happened at some point yesterday evening, night, or this morning. You came into work early, so obviously you're trying not to think about it. Oh and your behaviour with that poor man back there shows you're angry about it."

House sighed. "Quit trying to be me, Cuddy. You don't have the brains."

"Maybe not," Cuddy conceded. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to forget about this." Maintaining eye contact with House until she left the room, Cuddy was intrigued by his behaviour. Something inside told her it wasn't his leg that was the problem, and if it wasn't his leg then…

What the hell was it?

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for the reviews guys, they mean a lot to me. :-)

* * *

"Have you spoken House today?" Cuddy asked, walking into Wilson's office. No greeting as she didn't have time for niceties, wanting to know what was going on.

"Uhhh, it's not even nine o'clock yet. House doesn't do early mornings, remember?" Wilson replied, wondering what on earth his best friend had managed to do without even being present at the hospital yet.

"He does today," Cuddy stated solemnly. "He was in his office last I saw, and he's in a bitch of a mood."

"The usual then," Wilson sighed.

"No," Cuddy shook her head. "This is something more, something… different. He had a disagreement with some guy at the hospital entrance, made sarcastic comments to me…"

"That's strange?" Wilson cut in.

"No," Cuddy admitted. "It's a gut feeling I have. That and he mentioned his leg muscle being missing which he doesn't do unless he's in extreme pain. Physical or otherwise."

"You think it's his leg?" Wilson frowned.

"Again, no. It's just... Wilson I can't put my finger on it but there's something up with him. You're his best friend; talk to him?" Cuddy suggested.

"Sure," Wilson smiled, trying to reassure her. "He'll be here at some point before lunch anyway, he always is, so I'll have a word then and I'll get back to you."

Returning Wilson's smile, Cuddy said gratefully, "Thank you, I'd appreciate that."

* * *

The thing was; House didn't turn up to see Wilson. Normally this would be an indicator that he was up to something, but considering what Cuddy had told him, Wilson didn't think so. He ambled along to House's office, surprised to see him alone with none of his team around. Surely one of them would be hovering around, especially if they didn't have a patient? After all, Cuddy would have mentioned it if House had a patient, which led Wilson to believe that there was something going on. The thing about knowing a person like House meant you looked out for the little things, and there were too many strange differences for Wilson to think they were just coincidence.

"Hey," Wilson announced his presence as he walked into House's office.

House merely looked up from his computer, not affording Wilson a reply.

"You uhhh, you didn't come to my office today," He made an attempt at conversation.

"Was I supposed to?" House snapped.

"No," Wilson conceded. "But that doesn't usually stop you."

"I had an appointment," House told him. A lie, but Wilson didn't know that.

"For your leg?" Wilson asked. Maybe Cuddy had got it wrong and it was his leg after all.

"With a hooker, actually." House said brightly.

Rolling his eyes, Wilson wondered how on earth he was supposed to get House to open up to him. Deciding to try a different tactic he said, "Cuddy's worried about you."

"How nice for her," House replied.

"House; what's going on? You were in work early today; you're being weird and… where are your team?"

"Baseball game," House clicked the mouse of the computer a few times, shutting it down. He then stood, moving towards his office door.

"You don't have a patient do you? Where are you going?" Wilson fired more questions at him.

"Nope. And I'm going to the clinic," He answered.

"To find a patient?" Wilson guessed.

"Clinic Duty," House announced before leaving the room, a dumbstruck Wilson in his wake.

He wasn't _trying_ to alert them to the fact that something was wrong. In fact, he hoped they would just think he was planning something, and aside from keeping a close eye on his behaviour they would just leave him to it. As for clinic duty, well boring it may be but it was something to do. There was only so much television he could take, his gameboy's battery was run down and he needed to keep his mind occupied. His guitar was at home, he had no patient to diagnose, and so, there was clinic duty. It was a bad idea to spend too much time around Wilson or bugging Cuddy, because they saw through him. Cuddy especially seemed suspicious, and it wouldn't take much for her to realise that this wasn't just another one of House's mind games. Therefore, clinic was his only option. At least then he could get off on the fact that Cuddy would be freaking out for the entire day, wondering what he was up to.

He'd told Chase, Foreman and Cameron to go and amuse themselves elsewhere. With no patient they hadn't called him on it, just assumed he wanted no distraction from his hobbies. He suspected that Cameron wanted to say something, but for once, she'd kept her mouth shut. Thank God. Besides, this way he could take his frustration out on the clinic patients instead of people like Wilson and Cuddy. As much as being a bastard was his thing, he didn't like to go so far that he hurt the feelings of the two people he felt he could trust.

Well, trust to a certain extent anyway.

The first patient he saw had a cold. The second, a sprained ankle. The third was marginally more interesting as he dealt with what the patient said was a dog bite, but in actual fact looked more like that of some other large mammal. House made a few snide comments, gave the patient a tet shot, cleaned, stitched and bandaged the wound before telling him he would need to come back for a follow up appointment. He was just in the process of handing over a prescription for antiseptic cream for the bite, when the door to the exam room flew open, Cuddy ranting as she entered.

"What are you up to House because I swear to God when I find out…" her voice trailed off as she saw House was with a patient. She'd thought Brenda was joking when she knocked on her office door to say that House appeared to be treating patients. Apparently, the nurse had been telling the truth.

Turning to the patient, House informed him, "Go," He handed over the prescription. "And I wouldn't suggest hanging out at zoos anymore unless you like the idea of having your hand bitten off next time."

Cuddy stared, shocked as House appeared to be treating people. Ok so he was still sarcastic, but you couldn't ask for miracles.

Focusing his attention on Cuddy, House asked, "Was there something you wanted?"

"I…don't," Cuddy stuttered. "Why are you doing your clinic duty?"

House deflected, "Normally you yell at me for not doing it but now you have a problem with me being here?"

"No," Cuddy shook her head, shutting the door giving them both privacy. "But there's no way you've had a change of heart and actually want to be here, so tell me, what's this about?"

House shrugged. "Just doing my job, Cuddy."

Cuddy growled. "Ugggh. You're driving me mad! You don't just do your job, you're House! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Nothing!" House shot back at her quickly. "Just leave it alone would you Cuddy, you're like a dog with a bone! I'm here, doing what I'm supposed to be, so just accept it."

"House," Cuddy walked towards him, sitting beside him. "I'm asking because I care. Wilson cares. Talk to us, will you?"

Refusing to meet her eye, House faced the other way. He remained silent.

"House? It's not your leg, Wilson and I would have noticed you were in pain. Is it something to do with Stacy?" Cuddy asked nervously.

House gave a bitter laugh. "No, but thanks for bringing her into it. I appreciate the reminder."

"I'm sorry, I just…" Cuddy was frustrated that she couldn't quite word what she wanted to say. She decided to take the risk and say what she couldn't in words with actions, and so, she gently placed a hand on his arm. Surprisingly, he didn't shrug it off. "I wish you'd tell me what the problem is. You know, I wouldn't tell anyone. Not even Wilson if you didn't want me to."

Against his will, House found himself feeling something towards Cuddy for her promise. He didn't want to upset her, but at the same time, he didn't show his vulnerable side. Not ever. Once again he didn't speak, just focused on the fact that her hand was on his arm, a rare moment of human contact meaning something to him.

Smiling at House, Cuddy said, "You have to be different, don't you?"

Confused, House replied, "Huh?"

"Well normally when people are going through something, their work suffers. Yours just gets better. " She explained, still grinning at him.

Knowing that eventually he would have to explain what had happened; House wondered how to say it without appearing upset. Now he had seen the opportunity to reveal what was going on present itself, House took it. "Guess I should have told my father to die years ago then."

Mouth dropping open as House revealed why there had been a change in his behaviour, Cuddy scooted closer to him. "House, I'm so sorry. What happened?"

"Heart attack," He said gruffly. "There was nothing they could do."

Cuddy ran her hand up and down his arm, wondering what she could say, what she could do.

"I don't need sympathy, Cuddy," He said harshly.

"Your father's just died, of course you…"

"No!" House interrupted her. "Because I don't care! I should, but I don't and that's the end of it." Pulling away from Cuddy, he stalked off, glad when she didn't follow him. Right now he wanted to be alone.

After all, being alone was what he did best.

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	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry it's been so long... deadlines suck. Thanks as always for the reviews. :-)**

* * *

Cuddy was torn. She knew that going after House now would achieve nothing; he was too angry, upset. At the same time, she was worried about leaving him alone, not knowing what he would do. It wasn't as if she were worried about him killing himself, but House had a tendency to do crazy things when something happened that messed with his feelings. He was like it after Stacy left; for the first _and_ second time. He was like it in the immediate aftermath of Wilson's marriages. Hell, he was like it when he figured out too late what was wrong with a patient.

Knowing that she couldn't go to Wilson as she wasn't entirely sure House wanted her to, she went to her office, deciding she couldn't just leave House alone. She cancelled all her meetings and appointments for that day, and then instructed her secretary to tell anyone who wanted her that she'd gone home ill. It wasn't like she ever took sick days anyway, so it wasn't as if that would be a problem.

Before leaving the hospital, she quickly checked to make sure House wasn't in the diagnostics department or any of his usual haunts such as the cafeteria, rooftop, balcony or Wilson's office. Thankfully, the oncologist wasn't at his desk meaning she didn't have to explain what was going on with House. Once she was satisfied that House wasn't in the hospital, she hurried to her car, hoping that he was at home and not at a bar drinking himself into oblivion.

* * *

As it turned out, House was at home. To go to a bar would mean being surrounded by strangers, and House wanted complete solitude. He lay across his couch, swallowed a few Vicodin and washed them down with the glass of whiskey he'd poured himself. Of course, everyone knew alcohol and drugs didn't mix but since when had House followed any rules?

Aside from his father's, of course.

He wondered if that was why he so easily disregarded rules now. Part of his unconscious wanted to rebel against anything and everyone purely because he hadn't in his childhood. It was a theory worthy of Freud, and downing the remaining whiskey from the glass, he realised that if anyone could hear his thoughts now they'd laugh until they cried listening to him. House didn't analyse his own life; not the way he did other people's anyhow. It must be a one off, he surmised, and there was no way he'd ever think like that again.

House was just considering pouring another glass of whiskey, when he heard a gentle knock on his door. If it was Wilson he would have let himself in with the spare key he'd kept from when he briefly lived with House, meaning it had to be someone else. Seeing as there was no way in hell it would be Chase or Foreman, it had to be Cuddy or Cameron. After all, there was no one else who would willingly visit him. Even salespeople avoided his apartment like the plague. From the moment he moved in, word had travelled fast that the owner of the apartment was a miserable old bastard and so, it was extremely rare that they came. Sometimes, House did wonder whether life would be better if he had friends other than Wilson.

On those days, he called for a hooker.

The knocking became more rapid, and House struggled to ignore it. He didn't want company, and he wished that they would get the message and go away.

"House!" Cuddy's voice came through the door. "I know you're in there!"

House didn't want to tell her to leave, knowing that would only encourage her. Instead he remained quiet, hoping that eventually she would give up.

"If you don't answer in the next ten seconds I'm letting myself in with the key I have from Wilson!" Cuddy shouted, bluffing. In actual fact she didn't have the key, but knowing that the oncologist possessed one, decided to use that to her advantage.

Inwardly, House cursed. Now he had no choice but to open the door seeing as she was coming in anyway. Pulling himself up, he limped over to the apartment entrance not bothering to take his cane, and he wrenched the front door open. "What?" He said harshly.

Cuddy took in his appearance nervously. He looked more dishevelled than usual, and she suspected he'd been lying down. "I just wanted to check you were ok."

"I'm fine." House made to shut the door, but Cuddy blocked it with her hand.

"Can I come in?" She asked.

"No," House refused, attempting to shut the door once again.

"Let me rephrase," Cuddy pushed past him. "I'm coming in."

Groaning, House pulled the door shut behind her. "I'm going to kill Wilson… after I've asked for that damn key back."

"Wouldn't bother if I were you," Cuddy replied. "I was lying when I said I had the key to get you to open up. I haven't seen Wilson."

House turned to face her. He was angry that she'd lied to him, but curious as to whether Wilson knew what he'd told her. "So Wilson doesn't…"

"No. He knows nothing about your father," Cuddy promised.

Not feeling comfortable thanking her for this, he changed the subject, sarcastically asking, "Don't you have meetings to go to?"

"I cancelled them," She said simply. "Something more important came up."

"Oh?" House said gruffly, slouching on his couch.

"Yeah," Cuddy took a seat next to him, though she sat in a more dignified position. "See, I've got this friend. He got some bad news, and I don't want him to be on his own." She shifted close. "No matter how much of an ass he is to me."

House was… there was no other word for it._ Touched. _Trying not to show this, he said casually, "We're friends?"

"Let me see," Cuddy pretended to think. "I gave you a job when no one else would. I tolerate the fact that you cost the hospital more in legal fees than you do salary wise. I perjured myself for you. Oh and despite the fact that you interrupt my dates, insult my clothes, make sexual comments towards me and tell me when I've put on a few pounds, I still care about you."

"Well when you put it like that…" House shrugged. "Why do you put up with me?" He was genuinely curious.

"I'm insane?" Cuddy suggested, smiling.

House grinned back. Now he was actually kind of glad he'd let her in. "Or it's my boyish good looks, my fabulous charm, the fact that I gave you your first…"

"Don't go there," Cuddy interrupted, warning him. However, she was still smiling, and when he waggled his eyebrows at her she couldn't help but laugh.

"Do you ever wonder what it would have been like?" House was suddenly serious. "If I hadn't been such a bastard back then?"

"You still are!" Cuddy exclaimed. "And… we shouldn't talk about it, House."

"Why?" He was giving her that look, the one that she still found hard to ignore, even now.

"Because I'm here to talk to you about your dad," She said softly. "And the past should stay in the past."

"I don't want to talk about my father," House informed her stubbornly.

"Well I don't want to talk about Michigan!" Cuddy retorted, trying to hold her anger in. She knew that wouldn't solve anything.

"Maybe we shouldn't talk at all then," House said moodily, and standing up, he walked over to the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

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	4. Chapter 4

**Reviews are fantastic guys... love to you for them!**

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There was no way Cuddy could leave, not until she'd made sure House was ok. However, she thought it best to give him five minutes to cool down before she attempted conversation with him again, and so, she sat alone on the sofa. She didn't understand why House was bringing up the fact that they'd slept together in the past; now of all times. Ok, so over the years he'd made the odd comment, but he'd never tried to have a conversation about it before, or gotten angry about the fact that she refused to indulge the flirtatious comments he made.

The truth was; she was scared that if they talked about it then something would happen between them. That just wouldn't be good for her. She could cope with House, his Vicodin addiction, the whispers behind her back, but what she couldn't cope with was his cruelty, or that he wanted different things in life from her. Sure, his sarcasm was a part of him, but on the rare occasion that he stepped over the line; it hurt. Too much. When he'd yelled at her, telling her she'd be a bad mother; well that was a prime example. It had taken her weeks to come to terms with what he'd said, and even now, when the subject of motherhood came up she could see it in his eyes, that he still remembered his words. Still though, he didn't apologise, thus not allowing her to forgive him.

Trying not to think about his words, Cuddy slowly walked over to the bedroom, not bothering to knock before going in. All she'd get from him would be smart comments anyway, and so she may as well just cut to the chase and enter.

He was lying on his bed, fiddling with a yo-yo. "I expected you to leave," he said quietly, not meeting her eye.

Cuddy realised that this was the closest to vulnerable he'd been in a long time, and decided to take advantage of the situation. Lying next to him, she took one of his hands in hers, throwing the yo-yo to the side. She said cautiously, "I figured I'd stick around for a bit. We don't have to talk, we can just lie here."

House shifted away from her slightly, not feeling comfortable with her so close to him. He wasn't sure if the confusion he felt over his father's death meant his feelings towards everyone else were confused too. Especially Cuddy, the only woman who had ever stuck by him through everything. Hell, even Stacy had gotten sick of him eventually.

"House?" Cuddy was looking at him, worried.

"What?" He said, distracted by his thoughts.

"I said can I get you anything?" She still looked worried.

"No, I'm fine," Realising that a bog standard answer just wasn't his thing, he added, "Unless you want to go to the store and pick me up some porn?"

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "Do you have to do that?"

House frowned, "Do what?"

"Make a joke out of everything," She elaborated.

"It's what I do best Cuddy, you know that," House turned to face her, fixing her with his piercing stare.

"I wish you wouldn't," she said quietly. "Can't you just be honest with me?"

"Slightly hypocritical don't you think?" When Cuddy looked confused, he explained, "You won't be honest with me about the past, so why should I be honest with you about my father?"

"What makes you think I'm not being honest with you about the past?" Cuddy asked.

"If you were being honest you'd talk to me about it, explain why you don't want to discuss it," House stated.

"I don't want to discuss it because it's not relevant to us," Cuddy mumbled.

"That's a lie," House said sharply. "You don't want to discuss it because you're worried you're going to feel something for me again."

"I do feel something for you," Cuddy admitted reluctantly. "Which is precisely why I don't want to talk about it."

House was shocked. Now _that _admission he hadn't seen coming. "You… you feel something for me?"

Cuddy smiled sadly. "I always have, House. Didn't you and your mighty ability to discover anything and everything about anyone realise that?"

"No," House answered honestly. "But if you feel something for me, then why…"

"Because it wouldn't work, House," Cuddy said gently. "I can deal with the sarcasm, the Vicodin… my God I can even deal with your perverted comments, but what I can't deal with is the way that you hurt me."

"Hurt you?" House exclaimed incredulously.

"Yes," Cuddy said, kind, but firm. "The things you say to me sometimes… House you're plain cruel."

"That's just me, Cuddy," House waved it off. "Everyone has their faults."

"You have more than most," Cuddy informed him. "And it's not just the comments either. If it was then maybe we could get past it but… I want a stable relationship, children."

"So?" House pressed.

"You don't," Cuddy said bluntly.

"I'd do it for you though," House stated.

"Huh?" Cuddy didn't know what he meant.

"Kids," House said casually. "I'd have them for you."

Cuddy's mouth dropped open. "You're winding me up."

House shook his head. "Nope."

Cuddy stammered, "But you… you've always been against…"

"Everyone has to make sacrifices," House elaborated.

"But you… House what is this?" Cuddy didn't understand what had brought about the change in him.

"Think about it," House told her. "I know I don't show it but I care, Cuddy. Always have, always will."

In shock, Cuddy stood up, needing to process what House was telling her. "I uhh, I need to think."

"Go," House instructed her softly.

"But… your father… we need to talk about him…" Cuddy stammered.

"Not now," House shook his head. "I'm not ready. And you have enough to think about."

Cuddy nodded, leaving the room silently. She didn't want to leave him alone, but she knew that it was for the best. He seemed calmer than he had been, and besides, there was no way he'd do anything stupid after his proposition to her. It seemed too good to be true, House, the offer of everything she ever wanted. And fundamentally, that was the issue; she couldn't get her head around what House was saying. Deep down, she knew he was telling the truth. There was no way House would joke about something like that, which pretty much meant that the ball was in her court, that it was her decision to make. The problem was; Cuddy had a feeling that House was keeping something from her, something that had changed his mind. What though, she had no idea, which meant there was only one thing she could do.

Find out.

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	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry it's been so long, real life got in the way. Thank you for all the feedback so far. :-)**

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Waking up the next morning, Cuddy was blissfully unaware of the previous day's events, before she awoke properly and remembered. It wasn't that she was angry with House, she had no right to be, but she was angry with the fact that she was so indecisive about what to do. Everything she had ever wanted was being offered to her, but she couldn't help thinking that it was for the wrong reasons. House didn't seem to be coming to terms with the fact that his father was dead, evident through his straight refusal to discuss it. He didn't even appear that upset by the news, leading Cuddy to believe that either he was extremely good at covering up his emotions (he was House after all) or there was a particular reason why he wasn't grieving.

Cuddy autonomously showered and dressed, not feeling up to eating breakfast. She had a lump in her throat, had done since leaving House's apartment, and didn't know how she was going to face him again. Jumping straight into a relationship with House would be a stupid move to make, that she knew, but whenever she thought of him she dreamed of everything she could gain from being with him.

And everything she could lose.

House could break her heart; shatter her world into a million pieces. Even if they didn't end up having children together, which was a possibility considering her previous failed attempts, would the relationship work if House couldn't be entirely honest with her? There was something he was hiding, something big, and Cuddy wished that he would just come out and say it. If she knew, she could come to terms with it, but how could you come to terms with something you were unaware of?

The knock on her door brought her out of her reverie, and knowing who would be behind it, Cuddy opened it nervously, forcing a smile onto her face as she saw House standing before her. "Hey."

"Hi," House replied, giving her a slight smile. He hovered on the doorstep, waiting for Cuddy to speak.

Eventually, she did, stating, "This is weird."

"It is?" He asked.

"Yes," Cuddy told him. "You've only once knocked on my door, normally you just break in to snoop or come to the bedroom window."

"Figured I'd attempt politeness, at least until you've promised to be my little lady," House made light of the situation.

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "Hate to break it to you, but I will never be your 'little lady'. Are you coming in?"

House nodded, moving through the doorway, and following her into the lounge, where he sat beside her on the couch.

"I assume you want to know if I've made a decision yet," Cuddy said softly.

"Yes," House declared. "But I have something to say before you turn me down."

Cuddy frowned. "What makes you think I'll turn you down?"

"I thought you would have come to your senses." He stared at her, piercing blue eyes trying to discover what she had decided. For once, he was unable to work her out. "But if that isn't the case then…"

"I haven't decided yet," Cuddy said quickly, not wanting him to get his hopes up. "What did you want to say?"

House took a deep breath. "I'm sorry for what I said before, about how you'd suck at being a mom. And for… well for the fact you had to perjure yourself for me." He paused, allowing her to take in his words. "As for Michigan… I'm sorry that I left the way I did. I know I hurt you by not even giving you an explanation when you deserved one. But I promise you, there was no one else. I was just… being an ass as always and I didn't have the guts to face you."

Cuddy gawped at House, sure that he was on drugs. Drugs other than Vicodin, obviously. She couldn't help it, she had to confront him. "Ok, I have to say it. What is _with_ you? First you do clinic duty, then you offer to spend the rest of your life with me, and now you're apologising?!"

"I'm doing the right thing, Lisa," He said quietly.

"And now you're calling me Lisa," Cuddy laughed nervously. "Seriously, _Greg_, what's going on?"

House was fed up with trying to make her understand, and he snapped, "I'm offering you everything you've ever wanted and you're laughing at me?"

"I just don't know why you're doing this," Cuddy explained, no longer laughing. She didn't want to infuriate him anymore. "Though I can't help but think it has something to do with your father's death."

Cuddy could see that House tensed the moment she said this. Calling him on it she said gently, "You owe me the truth. I was honest with you, now you be honest with me."

House ignored her.

"Look," Cuddy tried not to sound too irate. "I admitted my feelings to you, now offer me the same courtesy and explain why you don't care that he's dead."

"Who said I didn't care?" House immediately jumped down her throat.

"You did," Cuddy told him. "When you stormed out of the clinic yesterday."

Remembering, House nodded. "You don't need to know."

"But I want to," she insisted.

House shook his head. "No. No you don't."

"House… please," Cuddy pleaded. "Whatever you say will stay between us. I promise."

"I've only ever told one person," House admitted. "And she was… well she wasn't anyone important."

"Stacy?" Cuddy queried.

"No," House denied. "A patient. Eve."

"Eve?" Cuddy racked her brains trying to remember a patient House had treated called Eve. She couldn't recall one.

"She wasn't my patient," House realised what Cuddy was doing. "Not really anyway. She was a patient from the clinic, the girl who…"

"Was raped," Cuddy finished for him. "I remember. She would only talk to you and… oh God, your father…"

"No!" House exclaimed quickly, knowing what Cuddy was thinking. "Nothing like that."

"Then what?" Cuddy pressed.

"Jesus, Cuddy!" House yelled, her persistence annoying him to the extreme. Cuddy jumped as he raised his voice, not having expected it. "It's in the past, and the past should…"

"Stay in the past?" Cuddy interrupted. "Wasn't that exactly what I said to you yesterday?"

Embarrassed, House remembered her words. "This is different," He snapped, not wanting her to know he was uncomfortable.

"Why, because it's you we're talking about?" Cuddy said firmly, but not harshly.

"Because we're talking about child abuse!" House yelled, having finally reached his breaking point. "Because talking about how I was shoved into an ice bath and forced to sleep in the pouring rain isn't my idea of a fun conversation to be having!" He stood, not able to continue talking to Cuddy.

"House, wait," Cuddy called out to him as he rushed out of the room. She stood to follow him, knowing that if he left now she'd never get him anywhere close to opening up again."

"House!" She shouted after him, grabbing his arm as he turned to leave.

"What?!" He growled, turning to face her.

"Don't go, please. Just… don't go," She whispered, placing her hands on either side of him and looking up at him forlornly.

For once in his life, House listened.

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

**Again, much appreciation for the feedback! Got some more for you so here we go.**

* * *

Beckoning House back to the lounge and sitting on the couch, Cuddy didn't say anything else. She was worried that if she said the wrong thing he would immediately try and leave again. Not wanting this to happen, she waited for him to speak, in his own time. She knew she could have a long wait ahead of her, but in the long run, it would be worth it.

As House swallowed a few Vicodin, Cuddy didn't pass comment. Aside from the fact that she didn't want to alienate House, it was his way of coping with pain, pain that Cuddy was pretty sure was emotional, not just physical. It felt strange to be thinking of House in that way, he was the last person you would associate with vulnerability; but he was human. People just didn't realise that House was the same as them; his tough exterior often making them think otherwise.

"I know what you're thinking," House eventually piped up.

"Oh?" Cuddy said, waiting for him to tell her what he suspected were her own thoughts.

"You're thinking that this is why I'm the way I am. _He was abused, that's why he is such a bastard!_" House mocked.

"No," Cuddy said truthfully. "But I am thinking; I wish he wouldn't use the fact that he's a bastard to cover up the way his father made him feel."

House stared at her, surprised. He could tell that she wasn't lying to him; he always knew when she was lying. Gruffly, he replied, "The way he made me feel is irrelevant Cuddy. It was a long time ago, and now that he's dead… well it's over. Completely over."

"If it's over then you should be able to easily talk about it," Cuddy leant back again the couch. "So go on." She spoke casually, knowing she would get House's back up. The way she saw it, this was the only way she would make any progress, and though it was a strange way to make House talk, she knew it was the only way.

"You can be a real bitch, you know that Cuddy?" House spat.

Cuddy encouraged his anger towards her by laughing. "You tell me often enough, there's no way I couldn't know." She leant towards House again. "Would you rather I pitied you? Told you it's all going to be ok, we can be together and your father issues will be sorted if you would just see a therapist?"

House opened his mouth to reply, but Cuddy cut him off. "No. You wouldn't. You'd yell at me for being sympathetic and refuse to open up. But at least if you're angry at me for being a bitch, you're not angry at yourself for the guilt you feel."

"Guilt?" House laughed, though things were anything but funny. "Why should I feel guilty?"

"Because you blame yourself!" Cuddy raised her voice. "You think you did something to deserve your father's abuse, and you feel guilty for not caring that he's dead! Well I've got news for you; you have nothing to feel guilty for!" She placed a hand against his jaw, her face now so close to his that they were inches apart. "Let it go. Forget feeling guilty, because none of this is your fault. For once," she quipped, lightening the mood slightly.

House swallowed; hard. Of all the ways he had expected Cuddy to react, this wasn't one of them. Somehow, the fact that she was staying strong, that she wasn't wrapping him up in a hug and telling him she would make it all better helped. She was being Cuddy, and that was exactly what he needed right now.

"Got that?" She whispered, running a hand over his stubble, still maintaining eye contact.

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He was grateful, but he didn't need to voice it aloud, Cuddy knew anyway.

"Good," Cuddy said with a smile, and without thinking it through, placed a soft kiss on House's lips. When he didn't pull away, she kissed him again, and this time, he began to reciprocate. Suddenly, hands were everywhere, and Cuddy wrapped her arms around House, pulling herself on top of him, making sure that she put no pressure onto his damaged leg. Their tongues moved together, and as Cuddy pushed herself in towards House and their bodies met, her hair brushed against his neck, tickling him. Against his will he smiled, and pulling away briefly he said, "So you're not turning me down then?"

Cuddy returned the smile, ruffling House's hair. "The fact that I'm straddling you would suggest so, wouldn't it?" The smile disappeared from her face, as she realised she had to be serious for what she was about to say. "I'm warning you though… you have one chance. Screw this up and that's it."

"That's what you said in Michigan," House smirked. "And look at you now."

Cuddy's eyes became slits as he wound her up. "If you feel like waiting another decade and more for me to forgive you once again, then go ahead; screw this up."

"I was kidding," House exclaimed. "Jeez, calm it Cuddy! I'll behave this time, promise."

"Good. Because if you ever decide to run away again, with or without explanation, I will hunt you down and when I'm finished with you, you'll need more than Vicodin." She threatened.

"Yes Mistress Cuddy," House said solemnly. "Now can we get back to… you know…?"

"One more thing," Cuddy told him. "Your apology earlier. Accepted."

"So… we're ok?" House said hopefully.

"It'll take a long time for us to be ok, House." Cuddy said seriously. "But we're doing this, taking it slowly, on the condition that this doesn't affect our working relationship. People will be suspicious if it changes."

"Does that mean I still get to make fun of Marge and Homer?" House said, pointing at her chest. "And taking it slowly… that doesn't mean no action does it?"

"That's a new one," Cuddy said dryly. "I don't think you'd stop that even if I told you to. And no House; sex isn't included. Even I have needs."

"Pleased to hear it. But to the boobie thing… that's a yes?" House said, brightening up.

"Yes," Cuddy said reluctantly. "But call them Marge and Homer again and…"

"I know, double clinic duty for a week… a month… a year… a lifetime," House groaned, interrupting her.

"Actually I was going to say no sex for a week, but if you'd rather the clinic duty…" Cuddy suggested.

"On this occasion, I think I would," House nodded. "But just to be safe, no more Marge and Homer."

"Good," Cuddy smiled.

House grinned, saying, "Perhaps Bert and Ernie? Fred and George? Bonnie and…"

"House!" Cuddy berated him.

"We'll stick with the twins then," House conceded.

Cuddy laughed against her will, placing a kiss on House's lips. "The twins think you should stop talking now," she informed him.

"That could be arranged," House said, deciding to be quiet, no matter how hard it was. Of course, the fact that Cuddy had started unbuttoning her shirt eased his pain, and House pulled her towards him.

House finally shut up.

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	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry for the wait guys, had so much on. Anyway, have the next part here for you, thanks for the feedback so far!**

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Reluctantly, House had left Cuddy's house for his apartment later in the day. He would have quite happily invited himself to stay, but he had run out of Vicodin and though he never would have admitted it, he himself wanted some space to think. He didn't like to use the word happy, but he was sure that a relationship with Cuddy would bring meaning to his life. He'd even settle for being less miserable, something he was in no doubt that Wilson would appreciate. Nevertheless, it didn't change the way he felt about his father, and somehow, despite everything, he still found himself preoccupied with thoughts of this.

What House hated the most was the way thinking about it made him feel weak; human. Deep down he knew he owed his mother an explanation, but going to the funeral was just too much. There was nothing he wanted more than to just pretend his father didn't exist, and now that he was dead, it would be made easier. Somehow, the memories brought to the forefront of his mind made everything unbearable.

Sighing, House immediately swallowed a couple of Vicodin the moment he walked through the door. He was just about to turn the television on, when he heard the doorbell ring. Limping back over to answer it, expecting to see Wilson standing there, he got the shock of his life when he realised it was his mother.

"Greg," She said with a smile on her face, though House noted the redness around her eyes, telling him she'd been crying.

"Mom," He couldn't help but register his surprise at the fact Blythe House, his mother, was standing on his doorstep, carrying an overnight bag. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you," she told him. "After all, you're all I have left now."

Opening the door wider to allow her to enter, House didn't know how to reply to that. He chose to just nod, accepting her words but not appearing as though he wanted to comfort her. He did, he truly did, but he just couldn't bring himself to say what a great man his father had been, when there was nothing more of a lie than that. At the same time, he had to be careful; lying to his mother was a risky choice to make when she could read him like a book. One of the few people that could, House wasn't sure whether to love her or hate her for this.

"How long are you planning on staying for?" House asked, genuinely wanting to know.

"Just tonight," She answered, taking a seat on the couch, where House sat next to her. She placed her overnight bag on the floor next to her. "I'm flying back tomorrow. I was hoping you'd join me."

"I can't, mom. Short notice… time off… you know how it is," He said in what he hoped was a regretful voice.

"Surely they make exceptions for this sort of thing?" Blythe insisted.

"For regular doctors, yeah," He replied, "But I'm in demand… you know what I mean."

"No I don't, Greg," She frowned at him, trying to read him. "What's this really about?"

"Nothing," House denied. "I just can't get the time off. And besides, I was never that close to dad anyway."

"That's not the point!" Blythe exclaimed. "He was your father! Where is your respect? I know that you're miserable, that you make no effort to form relationships or… or…" Upset, Blythe stopped speaking, trying to compose herself.

"Mom," House hated seeing her like this, the one woman whom he would never ever lose respect for. "I'm sorry."

"No you're not," She insisted. "If you were sorry then you would do the right thing."

Looking into his mother's eyes, House didn't know what to do. For once he had a conscience, one that actually mattered. Wherever his mother was concerned, the rules were different. He didn't want to appear harsh, uncaring. He wasn't exactly a great son, but that didn't mean he had to go out of his way to make things worse than they already were. "I know I'm not what you want for a son," He said openly. "But he was never what I wanted for a father."

Wiping her face, Blythe frowned. "What on earth is that supposed to mean?"

House paused. He hadn't wanted to do this, he really hadn't, but he couldn't see that he had any other choice. "He wasn't exactly the nicest person when I was younger," He said ominously.

"In what way?" Blythe persisted, wanting details, wanting to understand what this was about.

"Just… things. He overstepped the mark too many times." House tried to explain. "He wasn't as perfect as you thought he was."

"No one's perfect," Blythe dismissed House's words with a wave of her hands.

"Yes, but he had more faults than most," House couldn't help but say.

"So do you," Blythe retorted. "And I'd still go to your funeral, you're my son. And therefore, you should go to his funeral, because he is still your father. He always will be."

"Well, that's debateable," House muttered.

"Excuse me?" Blythe asked incredulously.

"Forget it," House mumbled.

Blythe didn't know what to say, confused by her son's words. "Look, I still don't understand."

"You don't want to," House told her. "And I'm sorry, but I won't go to the funeral, no matter what you say. If you want to spend some time here, or for me to visit in a few weeks then that's fine, but…"

"I think I'll go now," Blythe stated, interrupting House. "There's bound to be a decent hotel around here somewhere."

"Mom," House sighed. "Look you can stay here, you're welcome to."

"I'd rather not," Blythe said sharply. "You've made your feelings towards your father clear, and I'd rather not be subjected to any more discussion about it right now."

"Then let's not talk about it," House said, almost pleading. "But stay mom, you shouldn't be on your own right now." He was acting like a different person, but there was something in his mother that brought about such a personality change in him that it was scary. It was why he didn't want Cameron to officially meet them for more than a few minutes. Hell, it was why after dating Stacy for five years she had only met them once. He knew that people would mock him for acting like a real human being, but the truth was; being cruel to his mother was something he would never ever do. No matter what.

"Greg," His mother said, her voice slightly softer. "What else is there to talk about?" And with that, she stood from her seat, and picking up her bag, she left the apartment.

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	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks for the reviews guys. This is the penultimate part! Alex, I wanted to reply to your review but you replied anon so I was unable to, so I'll do it here. I hope that Blythe's feelings on the matter will become clear in the final part, and her relationship with House, as I've already written it and am just in the process of editing it. Thanks for the analysis, I appreciate that you took the time to write it!**

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"You're doing the right thing," Cuddy whispered to House as they stood before the giant building, statues towering over them. House had been standing, staring silently, for the past few minutes. From their position they could see everyone entering the Church, those outside fulfilling their role in preparing for the military funeral. Both watched beyond them, to view middle-aged men sombrely waiting for instruction as to what they should do next.

"For her," House stated. "I'm doing the right thing for her, not for me." He couldn't actually believe that he'd come, and was already regretting his decision.

"I know," Cuddy said in agreement, realising he was talking about his mother. House had explained to her that his mother had paid him a visit, and though he hadn't gone into much detail as to what was said, Cuddy was smart enough to realise that they hadn't parted on good terms. However, deciding to make light of things and not dwell on this right now, she encouraged House to take the next step and begin his journey towards the Church, joking, "Pity you don't apply the same philosophy to me and clinic duty."

Giving her a small smile, House retorted, "Well, if we're talking about you, me and a 'consult' in the clinic then I might be persuaded."

"Ha ha," Cuddy rolled her eyes. "In your dreams."

"Every night, Cuddy, every night." House said, giving her his usual boyish grin. He was just about to turn the conversation around to Cuddy and her dreams, when he caught sight of his mother arriving, reminding him of why he was there in the first place.

Seeing where House was looking and watching his grin fade, Cuddy placed a hand on his shoulder. "We should go in," she said softly.

House nodded grimly. "Fine." Needing some semblance of control he added, "But we're sitting at the back. And not going to the wake. I don't care what people think, the fact that I'm here should be enough."

"It is," Cuddy reassured him. "We can sit wherever you want so… lead the way." She gestured towards the Church with her hand.

It took House a few moments to gather his thoughts, before he began the slow and steady journey towards the Church. Cuddy followed, her hand placed on House's lower back for moral support. At first she had been sure he would shrug it off, push her away, but surprisingly, he had allowed her to do the one small thing she felt she could in being there for him. In some ways, Cuddy felt that his father's death had done him a favour. She felt awful for thinking it, but before this had happened House never would have let her do a thing for him, or opened up to her in the way that he had. Part of her realised that it would probably be a brief period, perhaps with some lasting effects, but maybe, just maybe, House would learn that it was better to act the way he had the past few days. As selfish as it was, Cuddy also didn't really care if he continued acting like an ass towards patients, so long as he improved his attitude towards his team, Wilson, and obviously; her.

Walking through the doors of the Church, Cuddy prayed hard that God would listen to her, understand what she, no, what_ they_ needed. She found that concentrating on what their needs were helped to detract from the people around her, staring, looks of sympathy being thrown their way. Everyone knew that Gregory House was a miserable insufferable human being, but the death of his father appeared to have mellowed their feelings towards him. At least for the short duration of the funeral. After that, who knew what they would do?

* * *

Much to Cuddy's surprise, House held his tongue throughout the service; even the eulogy. Given by his father's best friend, a fellow military man by the name of Kevin Wakefield, House sat in silence, giving no indication that he disagreed with what was being said. John House was a good man, Kevin Wakefield insisted. A good husband, a good father. A few cast glances in House's direction as soon as the word father had been spoken, but no one frowned in his direction, gave disgusted looks. Cuddy figured they must have thought House was sat at the back because… well he was who he was. It was just his way, a quirk of his, for want of a better word.

Of course, they didn't know the truth, and they never would, but Cuddy couldn't help but sense that Blythe would be sure to approach House after the service, wishing to speak with him. She'd noticed him on the way in, and merely stared, her expression giving away nothing. Cuddy supposed she didn't want to make a scene, or maybe she had come to the conclusion that today was her husband's day; and not her son's.

The funeral ended with the usual military formalities, and finally, House's duty was done. He hastily moved out of the pew, making eye contact with no one, though he did knock into one or two people stood in his way. Cuddy close behind, she opened her mouth to apologise for him, when she stopped, something inside telling her that this wasn't the time for her to be excusing his behaviour. He needed her there for him, and screw what everyone else around her thought. They most likely had someone, a loved one for them to be consoled by. Despite the fact that House wasn't going to need the average kind of care and attention from Cuddy, he still needed her. Cuddy was well aware of that.

"Do you want to speak to your mother before the burial?" She asked him gently as soon as they were outside the church. She knew he wouldn't appreciate her asking him if he was ok surrounded by all these people, and the last thing she wanted was for a sarcastic retort from him to distance himself from her once again.

"No," He said gruffly. "But I should speak to her afterwards."

Cuddy nodded, placing a hand on his arm. "Let's go then."

House stared at her, looking as though he wished to say something. He didn't, but he did briefly place his hand over hers showing his appreciation, before they walked on together.

* * *

"_In the midst of life we are in death."_

As he stood over his father's coffin, House felt nothing. He knew that logically, this was because there were so many emotions rushing around in his head that he didn't know what to feel. In addition to this, his severe discomfort at showing any sort of emotion publicly meant that there was no way his body would physically allow him to feel. This wasn't like his reaction upon hearing the news of his father's death; it was something more. And really, it didn't matter. If he didn't grieve then what was the big deal? He wasn't exactly going to top himself; that was far from being in his nature. The worst that could happen was that he'd end up popping a few more Vicodin than usual, but he took so many anyway that no one was going to notice such a small change.

"_Earth to earth," _

House couldn't believe that he had to listen to this drivel. As an atheist he didn't see the need in all the prayers, blessings, words that ultimately meant nothing. Anyone could say what was being said by the priest, so did it really make all that much of a difference? House seriously doubted it. He tried not to show open contempt; he knew that his mother would never forgive him. She hadn't yet made eye contact with him; she merely stared down at the coffin that contained her husband, the man she'd spent over fifty years of her life with. How she'd managed it House didn't know, but he suspected that it had something to do with the fact that she'd been brought up Catholic, and therefore subjected to strong messages instilled in her, such as that you should always stand by your husband. Divorce was a sin in the world of Catholicism.

"_Ashes to ashes,"_

Nevertheless, she had loved him too. You couldn't spend that much of your life with someone and not feel something. Whether what she had felt had been enough to make her want to remain married to John House, who knew? But House was well aware of the fact she'd been oblivious to his treatment of their only son, meaning that the chance of her feeling contempt or hatred towards him, like House himself did, was extremely small. It was the hatred that made House want to run away, as far as possible. He was bitterly aware that this was impossible, and so, he stood, fists clenched, waiting for the final words to be spoken. It seemed like it was taking forever, but in reality, it was just a few seconds before the words reverberated around House.

"_Dust to dust."_

There.

Over.

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	9. Chapter 9

**Thanks for all the reviews I've had guys, you rock. This is final part, and I hope you like the way it ends!**

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There were several words spoken after that, but House had switched off. The main part was over, and in the eyes of God (and House); John House was officially dead. Gone. It was in that moment that House felt something, something close to relief, as he realised that once this day had finished, never again would he be forced to deal with his father again. Maybe on occasion, his memory, but his memory was purely that; a memory.

"Greg," House felt a hand on his arm, and turned to see his mother, though her eyes didn't reveal how she felt towards him. She was just as much of a closed book as he was at times, and House was sure that this was where he got it from.

"Mom," He nodded in her direction, glancing around him to see that people were beginning to walk away, leaving him alone with her and…

Cuddy. Where was she? House looked around bewildered, wondering where she'd disappeared to. Sensing what House was thinking, Blythe said softly, "Lisa said she'd wait for you at the entrance."

House frowned. "Since when have you called her Lisa?"

"I think the question should be, 'Why don't you?'" Blythe replied. "You're in a relationship with her?"

"No," House immediately denied, then he backtracked. "Well; sort of. It's complicated."

"Isn't it always?" Blythe said, a trace of bitterness to her voice. Then, seemingly composing herself, she changed the subject. "Are you coming to the wake?"

House shook his head. "No. And don't try and change my mind; I've come here today despite the fact that I wanted to be anywhere else, but I did it for you, mom."

"I know that," Blythe conceded, her hand still resting on House's arm. "And I won't ask you to."

"Good," House was surprised at how readily she agreed, but still, he was grateful. "So… I guess I should be off then."

"I guess you should," Blythe patted his arm. "But don't be a stranger Greg. Come and visit once in a while, you're…" Her voice trailed off. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to continue. "You're all I have left." She finished speaking quietly.

Uncomfortable with the way the conversation was going, House didn't speak. Instead, wrapping his arms around his mother, he gave her what little affection he felt he could offer her. He even managed to say, "I promise I'll come and see you soon."

Smiling through her tears, Blythe released House, and allowed him to walk away. She wished to remain at the grave for a few moments alone with her husband. She had just turned to face it, and was waiting until she was completely alone, when she realised that somehow, this wasn't enough. Turning back around, she called out to House. "Greg?"

House stopped, turned back to his mother. "What?"

"I knew," she said softly. "And I'm sorry for that."

House stared at her, shock etched across his features. He'd always thought she had no idea, that she didn't realise what the man she loved was truly like when her back was turned. "You knew?"

She nodded, willing herself not to openly cry. She forced the words to leave her mouth. "Forgive me?"

House watched her, saw what she needed. He wasn't a forgiving person; that was obvious to everyone who knew him. At the same time though, he understood. And so he walked away, not giving his mother the forgiveness she needed, knowing that the next time he saw her, this conversation would not be mentioned. Or the time after that, or the time after that.

But in his heart, deep inside, he forgave. He just didn't want her to know.

* * *

Apprehensively, Cuddy watched House slowly approach her at the entrance, unable to work out his feelings from the look on his face. Sometimes she could look at him and instantly know what he was thinking, feeling. A good example of this would be when he was plotting against her, attempting to do dangerous procedures behind her back. Sometimes, even causing trouble for fun. In that case, a little smirk formed on his face, and no matter how well he tried to hide it, she could always tell. However, there were other times when she tried to read the situation, and his face was like a blank page, expressionless and impassive. Now was one of these times.

"Hey," Cuddy gave him a small smile but didn't say anything else, not wanting to rile him if he were in a bad mood.

"Hi," He said quietly, brooding over what he had just learnt. He considered not telling Cuddy, but deep inside, he knew that he had to. His mother had lied to him for years, and that had gotten him precisely nowhere. To lie to Cuddy about this was taking things too far. Clinic duty, patients, work in general; that he would lie about. But himself? Not anymore. By remaining silent and omitting to tell the truth, he was asking for trouble when she eventually found out. Which she would. Secrets always had a nasty habit of coming out when you least expected them to. "She knew."

"Huh?" Cuddy was confused, not knowing what he meant.

"My mother," He explained. "She knew about… about _him_."

Cuddy couldn't help the shock that formed upon her face, though to her credit, she quickly composed herself and covered it well. Reaching out to House, she gently took his hand in her own, trying to ignore the hurt she felt when he shrugged her off him. "I'm sorry," she said, not knowing what else to say.

House's eyes met hers, and he snapped fiercely, "What have you got to be sorry about?"

Taking a step back, Cuddy looked away, not wanting him to see how much he was upsetting her.

"Apologies are worthless," He said harshly. "They don't change the past." He was about to add that sorry didn't take away his leg pain or the fact that she'd allowed half his muscle to be taken away, when he stopped himself. Cuddy had giving him one last chance, and if he hurt her now and she walked away, that was it. So he bit his tongue, counted to ten, and hobbled around so that he could see her face, feeling waves of guilt when he saw that she was struggling not to cry, not to show him how upset she already was.

"Lisa?" It didn't feel right calling her Cuddy, not at this point in time. Moreover, it got her attention, and she lifted her head level with his, surprise etched in with the hurt.

"What?" She forced herself to say firmly, not wanting him to think she was weak.

"Ignore what I just said about apologies being worthless," He swallowed. "I'm sorry for taking this out on you."

"Excuse me?" Cuddy was taking aback, unable to believe what she was hearing. "House, you're… you're being weird."

"Yeah," He admitted. Trying to lighten the mood he instructed her, "Don't tell Wilson, he'll say it's a midlife crisis."

Cuddy didn't smile, instead wondering how best to ask him what she so desperately wanted to know. It had been playing on her mind since he'd said it, and somehow, it seemed appropriate to bring it up now, whilst he was being as open as he ever would be with her. "There's something I need to ask you," she said quietly, almost in a whisper.

"What?" House frowned, curious.

"Why did you say what you did to me before?" She mumbled.

"You'll have to be more specific than that, Cuddy. I've said a lot to you," He once again attempted a joke. "Was it about your boobs? Your ass? Because you know… despite the fat jokes… I dig your body. Always have, always will."

Cuddy at least raised a smile at this comment. "No, House. It was about… about being a father. You said you were willing to have children with me."

House paused. Then, getting the wrong idea he added, "You know, I'm all for… shall we say practising it, but don't you think we should at least leave it a little while?"

"I didn't mean that," Cuddy waved a hand in the air. "I just want to know… why?"

House looked at her blankly. "I told you… you want kids, and I'm willing to go along with that."

"I mean, why now?" Cuddy pressed. "When I was trying to get pregnant before you didn't offer. And suddenly you're completely ok with it; you don't even try and persuade me otherwise, almost as if you want it…"

"It's different now," House interrupted.

"Why?" Cuddy was getting frustrated, just wanting a direct answer.

"Because he's gone!" House exclaimed. "He can't interfere, not anymore. And if I bring a child into this world, then there's no chance of him ever getting near it, and he or she will be safe." He shrugged. "You both will."

Cuddy smiled, genuine relief flooding through her as she realised and understood his reasoning. She felt saddened by House's reasoning, but knew he would mock her pity if she showed it. Therefore, she replied happily, "Ok," She was glad there was no ulterior motive. "I get it."

"Good," House nodded. "Does that mean we can go now?" He gestured towards the pathway leading away from the cemetery.

"Sure," Cuddy was still smiling, and impulsively, she wrapped her arms around him. She was glad that he didn't push her away, but even more so when he relaxed, enveloping her in his arms too. "Greg," she whispered into his ear.

"What?" He asked her gruffly.

"Nothing," she whispered gently. "I just wanted to say your name."

* * *

Leaning down to the open grave, Blythe got onto her hands and knees. She had something to say before she left, before she went back to her life. Her new life; without him. Brushing a hand over the scar on her stomach, one of the many that adorned her skin underneath the clothes she wore, she remembered. Remembered what he'd done, what no one had known about but the two of them. Fear had stopped her from speaking then, from doing something to stop the cruel cruel person she had married from carrying out his punishments, but the fear had died, along with his body. The control he had over her was finally gone, and instead, she had been given freedom, the ability to do what she wanted for the first time in years.

She leaned closer. "You think I spent today crying for you," Blythe said softly. "Well I didn't. It was for Greg. It was all for Greg."

* * *


End file.
